"Yes, as you see. Has the chief returned?"
"No; it is two weeks since we saw him last. He started then with all the fighting men from here and the other villages; but I expect it will not be long before he returns, for, from what we have heard, the work must be nearly done."
The party ascended the ladder, and the leader spoke a word or two with the old man, who looked greatly surprised. The captives were taken into a room, which by its furnishing was evidently one of the chief's private apartments.
"You are free to move about the house," the leader said, "but you must not leave it."
In a few minutes a woman entered, bringing a dish of boiled grain with portions of mutton in it. She gave the usual Afghan salutation. She was followed by another woman with a jug of water, two mugs, and a bottle. These were placed on a low table, and then without another word they left the room. A minute later they returned with a large earthenware dish full of burning charcoal.
"This is a good beginning, Azim," Angus said, his spirits rising at the sight of the hot food; for although they had not been actually starved, they had been on extremely short rations when their supply of flour was exhausted, their captors being, like themselves, reduced to a handful of unground grain each day. "This does not look as if they meant to cut our throats. Evidently our Afghan is acting under orders. Those orders must have been that we were to be well treated."
They ate a hearty meal; then Angus said:
"See what there is in that bottle, Azim."
The cork had already been taken out, and Azim poured some of the liquor into a tin, and handed it to his master. The latter smelt it.
"It is Afghan spirits," he said, "the same as they sell in the bazaars in Cabul."